


The Sweetest of Words (Have the Bitterest Taste)

by Omni



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Derek, Cliche, College, Explicit Language, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles, Sexual Content, Succubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omni/pseuds/Omni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Ah, yeah, Desiree, I told you I was meeting someone.  Well, that someone is Derek.  My boyfriend.  We’re totally in love.”  His heart was racing and Derek was holding him so tight it was difficult to turn enough to face the young woman.  What he <i>did</i> see of her had his breath catching on fishhooks in his throat.  She was normally a relatively pretty girl, with cute round cheeks and large dark eyes, but in that moment she looked…terrifying.  Her cheeks seemed gaunt, her eyes glowing like they were little windows peeking into a deep pit of raging flame.  </p><p>(Or: Five or so years after the show.  Stiles is in college, and finds himself getting stalked by a succubus.  Derek's determined that the best way to thwart her is to prove that he and Stiles are madly in love.  It's not really as much of an act as either seems to think.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetest of Words (Have the Bitterest Taste)

**Author's Note:**

> So, while working on the next chapter of "We Stand on Two Legs" (which is coming soon, promise), I felt like doing a quick little one-shot pwp. I also asked the wide open tumblr for any suggestions of prompts that weren't rife with fandom cliches. Obviously, neither of these worked out. Though I suppose the "plot" of this really is just to get them together, soooo...at least it's still pretty much pwp. Yay?
> 
> Also, I apologize for the excessive use of italics. 
> 
> Title taken from Florence + the Machine's "Hardest of Hearts," which kept coming to mind the entire time I was writing this.  
> ____________________________________________

**Group MMS  
** **To: Big Wolf on Campus, Earth Angel, Top Dog, Catwoman, Gravedigger, Iceman, Jackoff Dickmore  
** Guys. Someone. Meet me at the station when my train arrives in twenty. Seriously.

**Jackoff Dickmore**  
 _Get ur own damn ride losr_

**Big Wolf on Campus**  
 _Whats wrong!?!?!? U ok?!”_

**Catwoman**  
 _No can do, sorry. But maybe we can get together for drinks later? Gtg, Boyd’s getting pissy about me texting in the theater._

**Earth Angel**  
 _What fresh hell have you gotten yourself into this time? Must be bad if it made you forget I’m in BOSTON._

**Gravedigger**  
 _lol you should see Scott and Derek they are glaring at their phones! You shouldn’t cry wolf (no pun intended)._

Stiles looked up from his phone and tried to glance over his shoulder as casually as possible. His eyes widened and he quickly ducked his head back to his phone, tapping away at the glowing touch screen.

 **To: Big Wolf on Campus**  
Dude, remember that creeper chick in my philosophy and folklore classes? Her status has upped to stalker, and she is seriously sitting three seats back, FOLLOWING ME HOME.

**Big Wolf on Campus**  
 _OMG THAT’S IT? wth man I thout it was serious_

**To: Big Wolf on Campus**  
IT IS. There is something seriously NOT RIGHT about her. As in maybe not as human as one may at first assume. Just get your ass down here.

**Top Dog**  
 _I’m on my way. Continue texting me until I’m with you._

**To: Top Dog**  
Why can’t Scott come? 

**Top Dog**  
 _He is, as well as Isaac. Both of them will maintain a perimeter, engaging only if necessary._

**To: Top Dog**  
Wait, you aren’t going to ATTACK her, are you? In the middle of a train station?!

**Top Dog**  
 _Yes, Stiles, I’m a complete idiot and totally plan to charge in with fangs bared to save the damsel in distress. Expect blood. Lots of it. I hope you’re not wearing a shirt you like._

**To: Top Dog**  
My hero. I may just swoon. Nothing really captures a man’s heart like gratuitous violence and gore. If you’re on your way, should you really be texting while driving?

**Top Dog**  
 _Isaac’s driving. Scott’s explaining this girl to me. What makes you think she’s not human?_

**To: Top Dog**  
I don’t know, maybe it’s just the totally weird vibe she exudes, or you know, the way her eyes kind of flashed red at me when the train was going through a tunnel and I spotted her for the first time STALKING ME HOME.

**Top Dog**  
 _Red? Like an alpha?_

**To: Top Dog**  
No. Different. Like, the entire eye was red, not just the iris. Freaky as shit, and my mood is not improved by the fact that we are quickly becoming the only people in this car.

**Top Dog**  
 _So change cars._

**To: Top Dog**  
And alert her to the fact that I’m on to her and scared shitless. Yes. Genius. I knew you were more than a pretty face.

**Top Dog**  
 _If she’s not human, she can probably sense that you’re freaking out, anyway. Move to a car with more people._

Taking a deep breath, Stiles steeled his nerves and stood up gripping his backpack like it was the key to his salvation. Despite practically _feeling_ Creeper Desiree from School staring at him, he booked it to the doors between the cars and fumbled his way through. He kept moving, picking up his step as he heard the doors open and close again behind him. His phone buzzed in his hand, and he looked down to see that Derek was still texting him.

**Top Dog**  
 _Did you move? Are you safe?_

_Stiles?_

_Stiles, respond._

Fuck. He couldn’t pause to type, forced to ignore Derek’s constant texts as he pressed forward to the next car, then the next. Always the doors would open and close again right on his tail, and he was quickly running out of cars on this train. Fuck Derek and his stupid idea of stupidness.

He found himself in the second to last car, feeling the suffocating pressure of a panic attack, when he realized that the train was pulling into the station. The relief was instantaneous, and he nearly whooped as he shoved past some old lady blocking the aisle in order to get to the nearest exit doors. 

“Hey, Stiles,” Desiree called in a dreamy, “I have a shrine made out of your hair and fingernails” sort of way. 

“Ah! Ah. Ah, hey, Desireeeee. Fancy seeing you here. You live out here, too? Wow, what a coincidence, huh? Yeah. Amazing, right? I know. Hey, would _love_ to chat, but I’m meeting someone. So, you know, can’t keep him waiting. He’s the sort that gets grumpy if I do.” The doors slid open as he rambled, a garbled electronic voice announcing Beacon Hills Station, and to please mind the gap. Stiles slipped through and darted into the crowd before finishing his last line, praying to whatever god felt like listening for Desiree not to follow.

Of course, no gods ever seemed to pay Stiles Stilinski much mind.

“Stiles, wait! Is this where you live? We should go to your place and work on homework together. Wait up!”

“It’s never sane, normal people that want me. Noooo.”

“Talking to yourself?” Strong hands reached out of the crowd to grab Stiles by his arms and pull him against a warm, firm body. “Now shut up and wrap your arms around me.”

Stiles blinked at Derek, not entirely sure he heard him right. “Excuse me, what?”

“I’m assuming she’s the brunette in the 1950’s polka-dotted dress?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Without warning, Derek had a hand in Stiles’ hair, gripping just enough to tilt his head at the proper angle before he leaned in and started kissing the ever loving fuck out of the stunned young man. “Kiss me back,” he rumbled, lips still brushing against Stiles’ with every syllable. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” So, Stiles did. With fervor. Because fuck if this wasn’t something he’d thought about a time or two (or more) over the years, and who knew _when_ he’d get another chance (and by “when,” he totally meant “if,” because he was pretty sure the likelihood was zilch). 

“Stiles, there you ar—oh. Stiles. Stiles, who is… _that_?”

Derek broke the kiss with an annoyed little huff, pulling Stiles even closer against him as he glared at the girl. While Stiles enjoyed the proximity, he feared that one wrong shift and Derek would know exactly _how much_ Stiles was enjoying it. Then again, werewolf senses and all, the man probably knew. Which was…yeah, kind of embarrassing as fuck; someone just kill him now, please.

“I’m his boyfriend,” he heard Derek practically snarl—albeit in a very human and non-werewolfy way. 

“Ah, yeah, Desiree, I told you I was meeting someone. Well, that someone is Derek. My boyfriend. We’re totally in love.” His heart was racing and Derek was holding him so tight it was difficult to turn enough to face the young woman. What he _did_ see of her had his breath catching on fishhooks in his throat. She was normally a relatively pretty girl, with cute round cheeks and large dark eyes, but in that moment she looked…terrifying. Her cheeks seemed gaunt, her eyes glowing like they were little windows peeking into a deep pit of raging flame. 

“You’re not gay,” she said, which was a strange thing to say to someone who just had his tongue in another dude’s mouth, but Desiree was a strange lady.

“Uh, well, no, not fully. I’m a non-discriminating lover,” Stiles admitted, thinking that he was doing a pretty bang-up job of staying calm considering he felt like he’d fallen down some rabbit hole wherein lay a mix of his secret desires and worst nightmares. “But, you know, Derek just won my heart. With his charm and all. The six pack and smokin’ ass help, too, but really it’s his winning personality that did it for me.”

Desiree stepped closer, and Stiles could _feel_ Derek growling. “He doesn’t want you, Stiles,” she said in a strangely soothing voice, like someone consoling a crying child. “He’ll never love you like you need him to. But, with me, Stiles, you could have it all. No one would love you like I will. Like I _do_.”

Stiles glanced around at the thinning crowd, aware of the fact that they were apparently doing this _here_. For fuck’s sake, really? “Hey, so, yeah, you guys maybe wanna move this to someplace less conspicuous?” he snapped, completely ignoring Desiree’s loony rant of craziness.

It had Desiree blinking, mouth—which, Stiles just noticed with a jolt down his spine, had started to fill with rows of things more resembling needles than teeth—snapping shut. “Stiles?” she asked hesitantly, her face slowly filling back out to its normal appearance, confusion wrinkling her brow. “Stiles, didn’t you hear me?”

He managed to get an arm free from Derek’s embrace and waved her words off. “Yeah, yeah, ‘Derek doesn’t love me like you love me. Maaa-aaa-aaaa-aaaps, wait.’ Whatever. Seriously, though, if you guys are going to have some sort of supernatural showdown, you think we could move this _somewhere else_?” 

Desiree looked between them, stunned, her eyes slowly cooling until they were their usual dark brown. “I don’t… Wait, really? You’re serious?”

Stiles rubbed his face with his newly-freed hand. “Yes. Unless you want everyone to know that you—”

“We’re serious,” Derek interrupted, hand splaying across Stiles’ chest and pulling him so his back was flush to Derek’s front. “It’s serious. You can’t have him.”

“Impossible,” she objected, a bit of the fire flaring up in her pupils. “He’s never carried the scent of a partner. There’s no way you two are really together. Release him, wolf, and let me take what should be mine.”

“Gee, I so totally love it when people talk about me like I’m not _standing right here_.” 

“We’re taking it slow,” snapped Derek, his other arm wrapping around Stiles and his hand curling around his hip. “But, he is not free for you to take.”

Desiree eyed the alpha as if sizing him up and calculating her chance at victory. Then, slowly, her red lips curled up into a truly horrifying smile. “Fine. I’ll back off, for now. But my resistance is only so strong. If he continues smelling clean and free, I _am_ going to take him.”

“Hey, guys, everything alright?” Suddenly Scott and Isaac were there, flanking Desiree and doing a far better job at looking casual and not like crazy people at all. Stiles felt a burst of pride that at least _some_ members of the pack weren’t idiots. All the time, at least.

Glancing over her shoulder, Desiree lifted her hands in obvious surrender, but her lips were smirking as if _she_ were the victor. “I’m going. See you in class, Stiles.” Chuckling under her breath, she turned and clacked away on heeled shoes that Stiles only just realized he hadn’t heard at all while he fled from her on the train. 

“ _That_ was the stalker from class?” Scott asked, once Desiree was gone, supposedly heading towards a platform with an outbound train. 

“She was cute,” remarked Isaac, giving Stiles a look as if he questioned his sanity. It took Stiles a minute to realize that might mostly be due to the fact that Derek _still_ had his arms around Stiles.

“Yeah, especially when her eyes do that sexy hell fire thing and her face looks like she’s been starving for a century.” He pulled his way free of Derek’s embrace, straightening his rumpled clothes and ruffled hair and trying to ignore how his lips still tingled and his hip and chest were now cold. 

Derek glared at Stiles, then glared harder at the crowd towards where Desiree had headed. “I’m pretty sure she’s a succubus,” he supplied tersely. 

“Dude,” said Scott, ever the eloquent wordsmith. “That means she’d be, like, supernaturally good in bed, right?”

The glare Derek directed at Scott for that was special, Stiles noted, and came with a bonus of red flickering eyes. “It also means she’d feed off of Stiles’ energy until he was dead.”

“Oh.” Scott’s shoulders slumped. “That is decidedly less cool.”

“No shit,” snapped Stiles, wondering what the fuck he did in a past life to deserve this. All of this. Why did he have to live in a never-ending series of bad horror flicks? “Can we just go? Please? I need to get home and work on a couple essays and try not to freak out about the fact that the weird girl who sits near me in class kind of wants to suck my soul out of my dick.”

“You’re staying at my place,” commanded Derek, because Derek was cute sometimes in how he tried to use his I’m The Alpha voice. 

Stiles patted him on the cheek. “That is _adorable_. You are _adorable_. But, no. I’m going home, and I’m doing my homework, and you are going to be a sweetie and ask Deaton how the fuck I get rid of unwanted succubae. Maybe he has some repellant you can borrow.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion. We’ll stop at your place first so you can pack, but you are coming home with me, where you’ll be staying for the unforeseeable future.” He glared at Stiles, squaring his jaw and shifting his posture as if expecting a fight. Which almost warmed Stiles’ heart, because Derek knew him _so well_.

Glaring back just as hard, Stiles stepped up to him with squared shoulders and a snarl on his lips. “I don’t need to be babysat, and you aren’t keeping me from going to class.”

Instead of backing down, Derek took another step closer, moving into Stiles’ personal space and standing so close his breath ghosted across Stiles’ lips. “I’m not babysitting you, and of course I won’t keep you from class. But she’s targeting you because you are untied, and we need to convince her that she’s mistaken.”

Stiles blinked, pulling back a little so he could see Derek’s face more clearly. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“You have to smell like you’re in a relationship.”

Suddenly Scott and Isaac were clearing their throats and making excuses to beat a hasty retreat back to the car. Stiles flicked a glance at their retreating forms, then stared blankly at Derek’s still-close eyes. He’d never noticed before, but they were sort of golden brown in the center, fading out to green, with a ring of dark grey-blue. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re going to stay at my place until the scent of me on you is enough to convince her that we’re together.”

“The scent of you. On me.”

“Yes. Now, let’s go before they leave without us.”

Stiles followed Derek to the car as if walking through a daze. What did that _mean_ , scent of Derek on him? What did that entail, exactly? Stiles had some ideas, but he doubted the truth would be nearly so awesome.

___________________________________________

“Put your things in my room,” Derek ordered as soon as they set foot into his loft. “That’s where you’ll be sleeping.”

Stiles paused halfway to the couch and spun on his heel to raise his brows at the alpha. “That’s very gentlemanly, giving me the use of your room since you are pretty much keeping me here against my will, but I am totally fine with the couch.”

Derek looked heavenward as if asking for a bit of divine intervention or a blessing of patience. “We’re sleeping together.”

Stiles’ brain proceeded to short circuit, a series of images flickering through his imagination during that last burst of life before all thought went dead. “Um.”

“Don’t worry, princess, your virtue’s safe with me,” Derek sneered, almost seeming offended. Stiles wasn’t sure he liked that the very thought of being with Stiles was something offensive to Derek. “It’s just the best way to throw her off your scent.”

“Right,” Stiles nodded, looking away from Derek and staring at the spiral staircase to his bedroom. “Right, of course. Scent. That’s what all this is about. Yeah, okay. Fine.” Bitterness festered into anger (though at himself or Derek, Stiles really couldn’t tell), and Stiles stormed off to deposit his overnight bag in Derek’s room.

The older man must have picked up on Stiles’ mood, because the two of them were uncharacteristically silent around each other for the rest of the evening. Stiles had the excuse of homework, which he focused on with a bit more intensity than was normal for him, and Derek had the excuse of being an asshole.

Then the asshole had to go and ruin it by setting a plate of unfairly delicious-looking steak and potatoes on the coffee table in front of Stiles. “You still like it medium-rare, right?” Derek asked, his voice oddly quiet, as if he was afraid of getting in trouble for breaking their vows of silence. 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, closing his laptop and setting it aside with his books. He glanced up to watch Derek turn away from him and head back into the kitchen area. “Thanks,” he added softly. When Derek called back a far less tense “You’re welcome,” Stiles couldn’t help but smile.

___________________________________________

Stiles’ first thought as his fuzzy mind slowly clawed its way into wakefulness was that he was actually just switching from one dream to another. Everything around him smelled like Derek, and it felt like Derek’s toned body pressed all along his front, his perfect ass cradling Stiles’ hard cock between its firm cheeks. He could swear that his arm was wrapped around a torso that bore a striking resemblance to Derek’s, as well, and that the messy black hair in front of his eyes looked just like Derek’s would with bed head.

Then the man he was in bed with wriggled awake and made sleepy little noises in Derek’s distinctive voice, and Stiles was totally going to die.

Derek must have felt him tense, just as he _had_ to feel what was pressing insistently against his ass, because he clamped a quick hand down on Stiles’ wrist to keep him from pulling away. “It’s okay,” he murmured, voice still rough with sleep and making Stiles’ dick twitch embarrassingly. “Don’t stop.” And, wait, what?

“Fuck,” Stiles gasped, not questioning it because it was too early and he’d wanted this too much. He tightened his arm’s embrace around Derek, pulling him back to grind against him shamelessly. “Is this…you sure?” Oh, fuck, _please_ be sure, Stiles begged silently with every cant of his hips.

“Yeah,” husked Derek, arching his back and rubbing his ass against Stiles as if he was just _begging_ for it. “It’s a good idea. Best way to get rid of the…ah…the succubus.”

Those words sunk in like hypothermia, freezing Stiles whole and killing any desire. All he could think of was Derek gritting his teeth and enduring it, taking one for the team, waiting until Stiles was finished and it was over. Stiles couldn’t scramble away fast enough, and he nearly fell off the bed. 

“Stiles?” Derek was rolling over to watch him, his face pinched in confusion. 

“I have to get ready for class,” Stiles lied, not caring if Derek could detect the bullshit excuse. He grabbed a change of clothes from his bag and bolted for the en suite, not even giving Derek a second glance. 

When he emerged clean and fully-dressed, Derek was no longer in bed. Stiles found the man downstairs, Peter’s (may he rest in pieces) laptop open on his lap. He glanced up at Stiles, then closed the laptop and shifted it to the coffee table so he could get up. He was only wearing soft flannel pajama bottoms, and Stiles had to look away for his own sake. “Wait for me,” Derek said, eyes not meeting Stiles’ as he headed to the stairs. “I’m coming in with you today.”

“You don’t have to,” Stiles tried to object, but there was no conviction in it. Not much of anything in it, really, because he was too distracted by trying to figure out how to fix this, fix them. They had managed to become something like friends over the years, especially once he and Scott decided to join up with Derek’s pack officially during senior year of high school. They weren’t bros like Stiles was with Scott, but they were buddies, comrades, amigos, and Stiles was terrified that he’d just fucked all that up.

Derek stopped a couple of steps up the staircase, his fingers gripping the iron railing so tightly that Stiles expected the metal to be warped once he moved. “It’s fine,” Derek said, voice gruff but obviously attempting to be assuring. “I was reading about succubae while you were getting ready, and I get why you weren’t affected by her, and why you wouldn’t really want to…why this morning didn’t exactly go very well.”

Stiles looked between the laptop and Derek, wondering what the hell the man was going on about. “Huh?”

Gritting his teeth, Derek took a deep breath through his nose before making himself look over at Stiles. “You’re in love,” he said as if it pained him to even utter such ridiculous tripe. 

“I’m what now?”

“Why didn’t you just tell me you were in a relationship? You haven’t mentioned anything at all about seeing anyone.”

“That would be because I’m…not?”

Derek stared at him for a beat, then was stepping back down the stairs and towards Stiles. “You have to be. The only people who aren’t affected by a succubus’ allure are in love. It’s why they tend to only go after ones they sense as being unattached and lonely. Their powers are useless on people too in love to be swayed.”

Stiles wasn’t sure how he felt about all that new information. On the one hand, Desiree evidently sensed that he was indeed a bit lonely and woefully unattached. On the other hand, it was a pretty definitive confirmation that his little crush wasn’t quite so little. Fuck his life.

Groaning, Stiles scrubbed at his face and turned away to avoid the pitying look he suspected he would see on Derek’s face after revealing what he knew he had to. “It’s unrequited,” he grumbled bitterly. “So, of course she can tell that I’m lonely and whatever, because the guy I want is never in a million years going to want me back. But that hasn’t really stopped me from wanting him to, which is probably where the whole…resistance to her allure comes into play.”

“Then fuck him.”

Stiles knew Derek meant more along the lines of “forget him,” and not “ _fuck_ him,” but it made him think of earlier that morning and startled out a short, manic laugh. Oh, if he only knew…

“I’m coming in with you today,” Derek reiterated. “And you’re going to point out this asshole to me.”

“And, you’ll what? Get him to see how great of a catch I am? Bully him into dating me?” Stiles crossed his arms and glared back at Derek defiantly. “You aren’t going to school with me, and I’m not telling you who I—who he is.”

Derek thought his glares were _so great_ , but Stiles was so unimpressed it was hilarious.

“I’m coming with you,” Derek gritted out between clenched teeth, his entire posture tensing as if restraining him from lashing out at Stiles. “And you will show me who this dick is that you’re in love with that is too stupid to love you back.”

“Fuck you, no. It’s none of your damn business.” Those words had Derek jerking back as if Stiles had just made a swing at him and connected with unexpected force. 

He stared at Stiles for a long, tense moment, eyes a little wide and weirdly vulnerable before hiding behind a familiar scowl. “I’m still coming in with you.”

“Whatever, you giant creeper.” Fed up, Stiles waved Derek away and turned to start gathering his school stuff.

“And I’m going to be your boyfriend.” His _Folklore of the Philippines_ book landed on his foot, and Stiles was glad that he hadn’t dropped one of the larger, hardcover tomes he was forced to lug around. 

Turning slowly, he watched Derek make his way steadily up the spiral staircase. Before he could open his mouth to question or refuse, Derek was calling down to him. “If the succubus sees us, we need to maintain the story we fed her yesterday. Maybe we can convince her that _I’m_ the one you’re in love with.” Derek’s tone had gone wrong at the end, and he slammed his bathroom door with such force that the sound resonated through the entire loft.

___________________________________________

“Hey, Stiles!” Miranda greeted with a cheerful wave as she and their friend Adam approached him on the quad. She was wearing some sort of crochet-like shirt that clung to her body in all the right ways, emphasized by the contrast of the beige yarn against her dark skin. It was loosely-knitted (crocheted, whatever…what even is the difference anyway?), showing off glimpses of skin and a jade green tank top.

Stiles smiled and waved back, but secretly cursed up a storm inside his head. This was a reason for not bringing Derek that he hadn’t even thought to consider. Derek had a history of falling for women with strong personalities and totally rockin’ bods, and Miranda fit those things perfectly. He would just have to do his best to limit their interactions, because the last thing he felt up to seeing was Derek eye fucking his friend.

Adam pushed up his totally adorkable hipster glasses once the two came to a stop. “Stiles, who’s this?” he inquired with a lopsided smile and cocked eyebrow.

“I’m Derek. Stiles’ boyfriend.”

Trying to maintain his smile and not hang his head in defeat, Stiles motioned between the three other people with a flourish. “Yes. Right. Guys, this is my cuddlebunny, Derek. Derrikins, these are my friends Miranda and Adam.”

Miranda bounced a little on the balls of her feet, subsequently making other aspects bounce. Stiles tried not to glare, and refused to look at Derek to see where he might be focusing most of his attention. “No way,” she exclaimed in delight, giving Stiles a playful punch to his arm. “You finally bagged that hottie you were pining over?”

“I wasn’t _pining_ ,” Stiles objected, trying to tell Miranda with his eyes to shut the fuck up, dear god.

She smirked and ignored his telepathy. He’d hate her if she wasn’t pretty much his best friend in the university. The beautiful, brilliant, boisterous bitch. “Oh, you totally were. Pining so hard. It was pathetic. It was always ‘Oh, Miranda, what will I ever do?” Her impression of him was totally off, and he did not appreciate the swooning back-of-the-hand-to-forehead thing. “‘Oh, Miranda, he’s so far out of my league. Oh, Miranda, why does he have to be so _straight_?’” She dropped her hand and grinned like a shark. “Though I guess that last bit was wrong.”

“All of it was wrong.” Derek wrapped a possessive arm around Stiles’ waist and pulled him so their hips were pressed tightly together along the side. “No one is out of his league, least of all me.”

Despite knowing it was an act, Stiles couldn’t help the heat he felt creeping into his cheeks. “Stop it,” he whispered, trying to bat Derek away. 

Derek just grabbed his flailing hand and pressed the knuckles to his lips. Stiles froze as he felt the contrasting sensations of soft lips and rough stubble. “I mean it,” insisted Derek, drawing Stiles’ gaze up to his eyes like a compulsion. The intensity there caught Stiles’ breath, and something deep inside _hurt_. It was like he was in that movie _Alien_ , and the chest burster was digging its way free with claws and teeth. 

Miranda was making humming sounds of approval, and Adam was laughing nervously, probably uncomfortable with the PDA, gay or otherwise. He always seemed nervous and a little awkward, really. Stiles tried to pull away, tried to get his hand free and force his eyes to look at anything other than Derek’s. “I gotta get to class,” he forced up through his shredded chest and raw throat. 

Stealing Stiles’ backpack and slipping it over his own shoulder, Derek made a sweeping motion out towards the building behind them. “Lead the way.”

“Ooooh, so he’s carrying your books, now? That is just fucking adorable.”

“Shut up, Miranda.” They walked away to the sound of his friend’s laughter.

___________________________________________

“Oh my god, stop fidgeting,” Stiles snapped, hours later while they sat tucked away on a random floor of barely-used classrooms. He was on a small window seat, books splayed out to either side of him and clacking away at the laptop on his knees. Derek was sitting on the floor, back propped against Stiles’ legs. He’d been a good little werewolf for a while, reading one of Stiles’ books and keeping himself occupied, but eventually he started to get restless.

“You only have one more class left, right?” Derek asked for the thousandth time. “And it’s the one with the succubus?”

“Yes. Now sit still,” Stiles reprimanded with a flick to the side of Derek’s head. “I want to try to get as much of the notes for this report done as I can, so I have less to do once I get home.” 

Suddenly the warmth and weight of Derek’s back moved away, and Stiles watched in shocked confusion as his laptop was snapped shut practically on his fingers mid-type. The device was slowly, carefully set aside, then each book was closed and piled on the floor and out of the way. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked, watching Derek do all this as if not quite sure it was really happening. “The hell is your probl—”

For the second time in as many days Derek was kissing the wits out of Stiles. He crawled up into Stiles’ lap, straddling his thighs and carding his fingers through Stiles’ short hair. Stiles made a pained sound, repeating it loudly when Derek groaned and rocked against him. “What are you—? _Fuck_. Derek.” The rough stubble that had brushed his knuckles earlier was making a trip to his neck, scratching in ways that should be painful but only made Stiles keen. Blunt, human teeth grazed his skin, dragging along in hungry teases. 

When Stiles tried to be responsible, pushing at Derek’s chest and insisting that they stop before someone walked by and caught them, Derek shut him up with a tongue down his throat. It was super effective. 

That was, until he heard a nearby door open and the sounds of a class letting out. Derek finally conceded and moved off his lap, but he didn’t go far, sliding next to him on the seat and continuing the spontaneous make-out session. Stiles would complain more, but he really couldn’t find an extra fuck to give.

“Stiles?” Until, that is, he looked up to see Adam staring back at him in pained horror. Which was odd, really, and he couldn’t quite figure out what the problem was. 

Stiles pulled away from Derek, who seemed suddenly accommodating with that when he’d been persistently clingy just moments before. “Hey, Adam. You, uh, have class here now?” he asked for lack of anything better. Derek was running a distracting hand up and down his spine, and leaning close as if wanting to nuzzle at him, and Stiles tried desperately to focus on his friend instead of jump right back into kissing the infuriating werewolf.

“I. Yeah,” said Adam, his face hardening and his blue eyes narrowing. He wasn’t glaring at Stiles, though, but directly to Stiles’ left. At Derek. Derek, who was glaring back but with a smug smirk. And suddenly something seemed to just _click_ inside Stiles’ mind.

“Cool. Well, I really gotta get to my own class, now, so… See ya, Adam.”

“Yeah, Stiles. See ya.” 

Adam didn’t move away, though, just stood there trading dirty looks with Derek while Stiles shoved all his things into his bag and held in his rapidly rising anger. Stiles walked away; he didn’t storm or stomp or run. He walked at a brisk but normal pace, fingers gripping so tightly to the strap across his shoulder that they ached. The anger and humiliation were so great that the world was a blur of color and light and things he hated simply because they existed and weren’t suffering the same things he was.

Derek caught up to him quickly, trying to grab his arm, then hovering awkwardly at his side when Stiles dodged him. “You’re mad.”

“Whatever fucking gave you that idea, Sherlock?”

“Why are you mad?”

“The hell were you doing back there?”

“What do you mean?” Derek asked, all failed attempts at innocent and being shifty as hell. Stiles glowered at him before turning his attention to the corridor ahead once more. “You seemed to be enjoying it.”

The chest burster had obviously lost its course, because it was eviscerating Stiles’ guts and making him feel a little sick. “Oh, fuck you, you piece of shit.”

“He likes you,” Derek finally offered with an aggrieved sigh, as if that explained _anything at all_. 

“He’s my friend. Of course he likes me.”

“No.” Reaching out again, Derek was able to catch him and pull Stiles to a halt. “He has a thing for you.”

Stiles stared at Derek, indignant fury burning hot and stinging in his veins. “So you thought it was okay to _use_ me, to what? Teach him a lesson? Break his fucking heart? You had no right. _No right_.”

“Stiles—”

“No. No, fuck you. As someone who has spent his entire life being on the shit end of unrequited love, I know how much of a dick move that was back there. You were showing him that he couldn’t have me, which isn’t even your _right_.”

Derek took a startled step back, hand falling away from Stiles’ arm, eyes wide. “Shit, was he—is Adam the one you…?”

Stiles wanted to punch Derek. He wanted to punch him so hard. “No,” he spat, turning away to continue towards the building that held his class. “No, you total moron. But that doesn’t make what you did any better. You are a shit human being and I really don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Stiles!” Derek’s voice was filled with objection and a hint of hurt, and he kept pace no matter how wide Stiles made his strides. “She’s in your next class. You’ve got to calm down. If she thinks we had a fight or something, then she’ll think that our relationship is fragile enough for her to break it up. Stiles, slow down. We need to figure out a game plan, here.”

“I have a game plan,” Stiles snarled, not breaking stride. “My game plan is to continue being immune to her because I will continue to be an idiot and thus continue being in love with someone who I really, really shouldn’t be. You will continue being an absolute creeper and creep outside the room, and I’m sure escort me to the station after class. Thus, she will continue to be tough out of luck and deprived of the greatness that is my sexy, sexy body. Now, please, before I am tempted to order an entire fucking _garden’s worth_ of wolfsbane to shove down your throat, shut the fuck up.”

Blessedly, Derek shut the fuck up.

___________________________________________

Despite not losing much of his anger throughout the class period, their plan seemed to be effective enough to work.

Desiree approached him while everyone was filing out, but stopped a few feet away and scrunched up her nose. “My god, you _reek_ ” she groused, eyeing him like he was some disgusting creature covered in slime. “Were you thinking about your loverboy a lot today or something? You don’t usually stink this much of love.”

Stiles ignored her and shouldered his way through the congested doorway and into the hall. Where Derek was waiting, leaned up against the opposing wall, like a creeper. Taking a deep breath, Stiles set aside his anger and stepped into the role of besotted lover. He smiled brightly and walked right up to Derek, kissing him slow and sweet and wrapping his arms around the man’s waist with a lazy purr. He saw the surprise and question in Derek’s eyes, but closed his own against it and kept kissing. Derek kissed back, returning his embrace with hands that clenched a bit too much at the back of his shirt.

“Christ, you guys are disgusting,” complained Desiree from behind Stiles. He pulled back from the kiss to look at her over his shoulder. Somehow she managed to scrunch her nose up even more, and was looking a little green around the gills. “Ugh. I’m not sure I’ll ever get this stench out of my nose.” She turned her head away and made a sniff as if attempting to do just that, when her face noticeably brightened and her eyes hungrily followed a dark-haired boy down the hall. “Hey,” she called after the kid, scurrying to catch up and plastering on a stunning smile. “Marcus, right? Hi there.”

Stiles waited until she was out of sight before dropping his arms and stepping away from Derek. He felt Derek’s hands cling to his clothes a bit, but eventually release him. “Yay, we won. And no one had to die this time,” Stiles declared with false enthusiasm, tossing a hand up in a mockery of a cheer. “Though maybe Marcus won’t fair so well.” He tilted his head as he looked down the hall where the succubus and her new target had gone. “Think we should do something about that?”

“Stiles,” said Derek, eyes roving all over the younger man’s face, and looking like he wanted desperately to say something but didn’t know what or how.

“Let’s go,” was all Stiles said in reply, strolling away and knowing Derek would follow.

___________________________________________

The train ride was mostly over when Derek finally seemed to pluck up the courage to talk things out like adults. That thought made Stiles feel a little bad, since he realized he was probably acting like a brat, but still. It fucking hurt to have his feelings _used_ like that, and purely for the sake of hurting someone. Because, seriously, what the fuck?

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, so quietly that Stiles barely heard it above the sound of the train. They were the only ones left in that car, which was probably why Derek felt it safe to bring everything up. If the conversation veered towards succubae and werewolves, no one would accidentally overhear. 

“And what are you sorry for?” asked Stiles, picking at a small hole that had somehow gotten torn out of the cuff of his hoodie. He couldn’t remember how it’d gotten there. Maybe last month when the pack was taking that little camping trip in the woods?

“For hurting your friend?”

“That’s part of it.”

Derek sighed and scratched his fingers across his scalp in frustration. “For being like that with you when you have someone else you want? Because I don’t apologize for that. Whoever it is, you just need to get over him and move on. Like Adam needed to, in regards to you. It’s more cruel to string him along, when there’s no hope.”

“I wasn’t _stringing him along_ , you fuck; I had no idea he was even interested!” 

Derek looked over at him in genuine surprise. “You seriously couldn’t tell? It was obvious.”

“Obvious? The boy barely talks when we hang out. How am I supposed to know he’s pining for me?”

“Probably because you make him shy and nervous, thus the lack of talking. Jesus, couldn’t you see how he was looking at you when you all met up on the quad? How he was looking at _me_ , like he wanted to gut me?”

And…no, Stiles hadn’t even given Adam a second glance, too preoccupied with worrying over what Derek would think of Miranda. Evidently, he needn’t have worried, since Derek was too busy exchanging telepathic death threats with Adam. 

“So you knew he was in that class, and that the class was just about to let out, and _that’s_ why you climbed into my lap?” Stiles looked away, casting his eyes around for one of those emergency stop ropes he’d seen on trains in movies. He wanted off, wanted away from Derek and this moment and his fucking life.

The sudden silence from Derek’s side of the bench seat drew Stiles’ attention back, however, and he turned to see the man glaring at the back of the seat in front of them. “I might be a bit of a hypocrite,” Derek finally said, looking pained and angry and pale. “Here I am telling you that you need to either confess to the guy you like or let him go, and I’ve been the exact same fucking way.”

Stiles felt his heart stop, squeezed to death in a clawed grip and wrung out over hot coals. “Ah, so you’re suffering from unrequited love, too, eh? Sucks, don’t it?” He tried for levity, tried to sound joking and commiserative, but Stiles heard his voice crack and felt his murdered heart convulsing in its death throws.

Derek glanced askance at him before swallowing and answering in a voice just as wrecked, “Yeah. It sucks. Especially when you _know_ that the one you want is completely in love with someone else. So in love that it’s enough to repel a succubus’ charm.”

Stiles started to nod his head in agreement until the words actually processed fully in his mind. He froze, staring agape at Derek, certain he’d just heard wrong. “What?” he croaked.

A muscle in Derek’s jaw twitched, and he took a deep breath before turning to fully face Stiles, eyes filled with determination. “Forget about him, Stiles, whoever the idiot is that doesn’t want you back. I’d never treat you like that. We could be good together. It could work. If you’re willing to at least give it a shot.”

The warped, electronic voice announced from the speakers that they were approaching the next stop. They would have two more until reaching Beacon Hills. Stiles continued to do an impression of a gaping fish while the train pulled to a stop, and sped away once more.

Slowly Derek’s face crumbled, before hardening as he visibly tried to lock all his emotions back up inside again. “Got it,” whispered Derek, the sound rough around the edges and scraping Stiles’ insides raw. “Forget I said anything.”

“You,” Stiles finally managed to force out of his mouth, “you absolute _idiot_.”

Derek glared at him, hurt poorly masked and peeking through his eyes. He rose to move away, presumably to another seat or even another train car, but Stiles snatched his hand out and snagged Derek’s wrist. It said something that Derek allowed Stiles to pull him back down to the seat, when the werewolf could very easily break free or even rip Stiles’ arm off. “ _What_?” Derek snapped, trying to look scary and intimidating, and only succeeding in Stiles pulling him closer.

“It’s you,” Stiles said, meeting Derek square in the eyes and shaking his shoulders. The fucking moron. “How could you seriously not _tell_? You claim to figure out that Adam has a crush on me after seeing him for a grand total of five minutes, but you spend _years_ around me and can’t figure out that I’m hopelessly gone on you? Fuck’s sake, really? _Really_? Aren’t you a werewolf with super olfactory abilities? Couldn’t you _smell_ it?”

Derek was staring back at him in what was probably a mirror of how Stiles was just a moment before. Though Stiles hoped it wasn’t, really, because Derek looked ridiculous. “You get horny playing video games,” Derek eventually said, voice quiet and hesitant. “Why would I think my presence was anything special in that regard?”

“Okay, first of all, that is totally not my fault. That slow, undulating belly crawl you can make Solid Snake do is just _obscene_ , plus all the women in that game have necklines down to their toes.” Despite Stiles sporting his Serious Face, Derek had the nerve to snort and shake his head in amusement. “Secondly, that doesn’t change the fact that _you_ are the only _living being_ I get like that around. Mostly. But the only one I mean it around.”

Running cautious fingertips along Stiles’ jaw, Derek leaned closer. “Please don’t be fucking with me here, Stiles. Please.”

Stiles grinned, wide and lewd. “Oh, but I _want_ to be fucking _with you_. That offer from this morning still on the table?”

Derek growled playfully and snagged Stiles by the shirt collar to pull him in for a kiss.

“D’ya think we’d get kicked off the train if we pre-gamed here to relieve some tension before getting back to your place?” Stiles asked, breathy and deep and between wet, needy kisses. 

Derek groaned and kissed Stiles harder. “Tempting, but I’d really rather not test it.”

“You sure?” Stiles pulled back enough to waggle his brows. “The bathrooms on here are actually pretty spacious. Handicap accessible.”

“Fuck. Shut _up_.” 

“Or, I could just slide to my knees right here, you could put your jacket over your lap…”

“You are going to kill me. I fucking swear. Shut up or no more kisses.”

“Psh, like you can even maintain that threat. I’m on to you, man. You’ve been fucking _gagging_ for it all day.” Stiles stopped short as the truth of his own words slammed in to him. “Holy shit, you really have. Holy shit.”

It was Derek’s turn to grin, and Stiles thought it looked more wolfish than any of his transformations. Except that his teeth weren’t sharp. Staring at Derek’s teeth, Stiles’ brain went off into a few well-worn fantasies, and he watched as the grin slowly melted with confusion. “What?” asked Derek. “What are you thinking about?”

“You biting my neck while I’ve got you folded in half on your back, fucking you into the mattress.” He watched in satisfaction as the pupils of Derek’s eyes blew wide and a growl rumbled up through the man’s chest. “So, can we go check out that bathroom now?”

“No. We’re waiting until we get home, where I have lube, and then you’re putting your mouth to better use. Then, finally, we’ll enact that little vision of yours, and every single one of mine that I’ve been stewing in _all day_ , since you left me with blue balls this morning.”

Stiles bit his bottom lip. “Every fantasy?”

“Every.” Derek nipped at Stiles’ chin, prompting the younger man to tilt his head back. “Single.” He licked up the column of Stiles’ throat. “One.” Their lips met like a war where neither really wanted to win, just revel in the battle.

___________________________________________

Coldplay’s “The Scientist” erupted in the dark, silent loft, Chris Martin crooning “Aaaah-woooooo-ooo-ooo-oo-o” over and over again.

“Don’t answer it,” commanded Derek, trying to grab Stiles’ hands away from where they were frantically digging through various pockets. He managed to get one, and he pinned it beside Stiles’ head against the door. 

Stiles gave him a very unimpressed look and pulled his phone out with his free hand. “No, really, I thought I’d answer it and have a nice chat with Scott instead of fucking you blind.”

“Big talk for a man who ran away this morning like his dick was on fire.”

Scoffing and affronted, Stiles wriggled out of where Derek had him pinned against the door. “Ex _cuse_ me for worrying about your virtue, fair maiden. I did not want to take what was not freely given.” He turned away and headed for the stairs while tapping at his phone and pretending to dismiss Derek. Just because he knew it would piss the man off something fierce.

Sure enough, Derek started growling and advancing on Stiles, but Stiles just hummed softly to himself and casually ascended the stairs. A melodic alert chimed from the vicinity of Derek’s pants, and he paused in his storming to fish his phone out and check the text message. Stiles smirked as he looked at the origin of the message, on his screen.

 **Group MMS  
** **To: Big Wolf on Campus, Earth Angel, Top Dog, Catwoman, Gravedigger, Iceman, Jackoff Dickmore  
** Consider this a tie on the door. Until further notice, no one is allowed to come to Derek’s loft or try to contact either of us unless it is a DIRE emergency. Seriously, I will end whoever even considers it. That is all, carry on.

He turned off his phone as the replies started blipping up, not really caring about Jackson’s disgust or Erica’s congratulations. All he cared about was the ridiculous werewolf following him up to the open-walled bedroom area. With its nice big bed. One of those expensive foam deals, too, so there won’t be any annoying counter-bounce to throw off his groove. 

“Was that _really_ necessary?” Derek asked, more amused than anything, which Stiles took as a good sign. 

“What, are you ashamed of me?” He barely stepped off the top step before Derek was crowding him, arms wrapped tight around him and face buried in Stiles’ neck. 

“Shut up,” murmured Derek, rough chin scratching at him as he spoke. “I’ll keep a picture in my wallet and show it off to everyone I meet at the grocery store, if you want me to.”

Stiles laughed, the sound bright and delighted, and he shuffled them towards the bed. “Not necessary, man. But I appreciate the sentiment.” He spun them around and practically shrugged Derek off him and right onto the mattress. “Hope you don’t mind if I don’t get all sentimental myself, just now. I feel like I’ve reached my quota of sap today, considering I made a succubus choke on my _feelings_. Feelings for _you_.” 

“Thought you weren’t going to be sentimental.” Derek reached up and tugged Stiles down on top of him, moving him into place as easily as someone pulling a light blanket. They grinned at each other before trying to break the records they’d already been setting that night for marathon kissing. 

Eventually Stiles grew impatient, and he rose up on his knees to tug his shirt off and throw it blindly to the side. Derek helpfully began working on Stiles’ fly, but then distracted them both once he found the younger man’s cock. “Stop,” Stiles chided, after allowing a few glorious strokes. “Let me up so we can both get naked.”

Derek did as he was told, releasing Stiles and pulling up his own shirt while Stiles slipped off of him to stand and remove his pants and boxers. It was Stiles’ turn to be the helpful one, then, as he helped pull at Derek’s jeans while the man arched and shimmied and refused to get off the bed to undress like a normal person. Not that Stiles was really complaining, since all that stretching and wriggling displayed Derek’s delectable body quite nicely.

“Roll over,” Stiles breathed out, mesmerized by the play of muscle beneath skin. 

“I’m not a dog, Stiles.” But Derek did as asked, rolling over and stretching his body out for Stiles to feast upon with his eyes. 

Stiles decided to feast with something else, too.

“Fuck,” gasped Derek, as Stiles bit and licked his way from the man’s lower back, across each cheek, then down his cleft. “ _Christ_.”

Stiles hummed in agreement, gripping those glorious cheeks firmly and spreading them to gain better access. He shifted his hands so that the thumbs brushed against Derek’s furred hole, tickling it and teasing. “Where was that lube you said you had, again?” Derek grunted and made a flailing gesture towards one of his nightstands, while Stiles pressed his tongue inside him along with the tip of a thumb. 

It took a few minutes, but Stiles finally tore himself away from Derek’s ass. The sounds Derek kept releasing made it very difficult to want to stop, but Stiles was painfully hard and wanted to move the proceedings along. Otherwise, he’d probably just blow his load before getting anything more into Derek than his tongue. 

The lube was a special brand, not just KY or some other generic drug store bottle. It had a space theme to it, and Stiles raised his brow at the silver-print “Uranus” on its label. “You have punny lube. Why do you have punny lube?”

“Maybe I was hoping a punny guy would use it on me,” Derek responded from where his face was smushed mostly into the pillows.

“I’m sarcastic, not punny.”

“Sometimes you’re punny.”

“You don’t know me at all,” Stiles tutted, even as he cracked the seal on the lube and proceeded to slick up his fingers. Which, slick was right, because this stuff was primo. “Oh, man, this stuff is _nice_. You’re fucking me next round, because I bet this stuff will be smooth as shit. Which…er…considering the orifice I’m about to delve my fingers into, maybe I should reconsider my word choice.”

“See? Punny.”

“Tch. That barely counts as a pun. Now hush. The only words I want to hear from your mouth for the next while are ‘yes,’ ‘please,’ ‘more,’ ‘Stiles,’ and ‘holymotherofgod.’”

“Was that last one even a—jesusfuckingchrist!”

“Meh, close enough.” Stiles licked his lips as he watched his fingers slide deeper into Derek before slipping out and pushing back in again. He kept working the man open, their ragged breathing and the squelsh of lube the only sounds in that cavernous loft. Every gasp and groan seemed amplified by the open space, bouncing back at them from the massive windows and unrelenting brick walls. 

Stiles had three fingers twisting and prodding inside Derek before the werewolf snapped an impatient “enough,” and swatted at his arm to get him to move. He slid back, giving Derek the space to change positions. Then Stiles was slipping between powerful legs spread wide and inviting. Tracing his dry hand up through one leg’s coarse hair, he wrapped his slicked hand around his cock and coated himself. “Condoms?” he asked with hardly any breath, all of it coming and leaving in desperate, eager gasps.

Derek shook his head and reached out to pull Stiles even closer, get him right where he needed to be. “Werewolf, Stiles. Just—just come on, already.”

And, really, who could say no to that? 

Derek was tight and hot and more than Stiles could imagine while jerking himself off in the shower. He flexed his abs and drew himself up to meet every one of Stiles’ thrusts, making both of them choke and curse and do it again but harder. Stiles growled and shifted how he was sitting on his knees until Derek’s ass was set upon them. He gripped Derek’s legs and lifted them so that the calves would be over his shoulders. The hand still slick with residual lube slid a bit on Derek’s skin, until Stiles snarled and dug his fingers into the tight, corded muscle. 

The new angle let him slip deeper, but more importantly it was hitting right where he knew Derek wanted it. Could tell by the way Derek tossed his head back until his torso looked like one of Alison’s bows, and he was releasing such sweetly harsh and guttural cries. “Fuck yeah,” encouraged Stiles, pumping in steady and hard, knowing Derek reveled in the force of it rocking their bodies. 

Just as Stiles felt his balls start to draw up and that coil deep in his gut wound too tight, Derek reached out to pull him down for a kiss. His rhythm only faltered for a moment, but some sort of sexual reflex managed to kick in to keep his hips working while his mouth was busy kissing and biting and panting. 

Derek tilted his head to the side and bit down at the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder, while simultaneously clenching around Stiles’ cock and dragging blunt nails along his back. “Not fair,” gasped Stiles, who would be more outraged at Derek’s all out assault if he wasn’t too busy coming so hard his brain experienced Blue Screen of Death.

The world slowly bled back into existence, and Stiles realized that Derek was still canting his hips and making needy, demanding grunts. “Stiles, please,” he begged. Fucking _begged_. And that was enough to get Stiles thrusting again, feeling a bit tender from his orgasm but still too turned on to stop. Derek locked eyes with him, looking a little stunned and impressed by Stiles’ recovery speed, but then the man was tossing his head back again and crying out for more. 

“Pushy,” Stiles groused with affection, already imagining a lifetime of getting to deal with such a hot, demanding partner. He foresaw things like toys and rope and the very thought had him shuddering and growing harder than he ever thought he could be so soon after coming. Again he shifted his stance a little, hands gripping Derek’s hips to position him _just right_ , and eyes devouring the sight of the man splayed out sweaty and lost on the end of his dick. 

When Derek came, it felt almost too tight, and the sights, sounds, and feels were all too much. Stiles’ second orgasm was nearly painful, but with so much pleasure that the contrast just made everything sharper and better. He felt wrung out and well-worn and smug as fuck that he was the one responsible for the blissed-out glaze in Derek’s sleepy eyes. 

Stiles slid out and collapsed beside Derek. There they both lay sprawled with heaving chests and dopey smiles on their parted lips. “So,” Stiles said once he had enough air in his lungs, “I’m going to invite myself to stay the night. If that’s alright with you.”

Derek snorted and rolled his head to smile at Stiles. Looking at that smile felt a bit like that second orgasm to Stiles—jolts of pleasure/pain shooting through him and making his heart clench. “Feel free to invite yourself over indefinitely.”

“What? Seriously? We haven’t even gone on a single date yet, and you’re already asking me to move in?”

“Stiles.” Derek sighed and reached over to give Stiles’ ear a playful little tug. Then his hand slid down Stiles’ neck and collar, to come to a stop over his chest. “I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of sick of wasting enough time not having what I want.”

“Oh?” asked Stiles, rolling onto his side so that he could drape an arm and a leg across Derek, grinning at the fact that he was allowed. “And what do you want?”

“Pretty sure you weren’t the only one making the succubus sick off his _feelings_.”

“Pretty sure?”

Derek drew him in for a long, slow kiss. When they parted, he grinned up at Stiles like no one who had gone through such darkness in his life should even be capable of. “You’re right,” Derek amended through that grin, “I’m one-hundred percent positive.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [cursedtruth](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/cursedtruth) over on tumblr. Come be Sterek buddies with me! :D I love Sterek buddies!


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